For the fashion of this world passeth away
by Cheese-kun
Summary: A harmless search for unpublished scriptures, written by Martin Luther, turned out to be a deadly task. Alfred and Arthur, who barely knew each other, found themselves dragged into an unknown modern war between two religious denominations. USxUK Thriller
1. Francis' request of doom

Heyo guys. I bring you Thriller-goodness. The kind like Dan Brown's thriller, with an addition of delicious yaoi. Please review and tell me, how you liked it ^^.

**Pairing: **UsxUkxUs (didn't have enough space in the summary)

**Warnings: **Sexy times in later chapter. Also, violence. (I don't think that I'll offend any religions by this, so no worries, I'm not going to make theories about Jesus being married and the kind)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, Himaruya Hidekaz does. This fanfiction is purely fanmade and is not taking profits.

And now... here comes the intro-chapter ^^

**Chapter 1: Francis' request of doom**

* * *

As the sun slowly withdrew itself from the surface of a clear golden sky, the servant of God stabbed his enemy. Blood escaped from the wound on his chest and trickled into the slits of the stony paved ground. He smiled in satisfaction as he watched the thick liquid spread. Men were created perfect, he realised. He would pray for his enemy's soul later, for he was a good servant of the Lord, who loved even his opponents. A most worthy place was chosen by the servant for his victim to die; the lifeless body was bathed in late sunlight and found itself surrounded by marmoreal angels as if they were his guardians, a beautiful small chapel, far away from the city's noise and impurity. The mother of God smiled with her merciful countenance upon the motionless body.

oOo

Alfred F. Jones had long anticipated the day wherein he was finally getting his well-deserved break from his job. He loved being a cop; he would even call himself devoted. Doing his job was no mere working for a living, there's a well-kept idealism of justice serving as a reason. Not to mention that he liked being a hero for the troubled citizens. However he decided to go on holiday for a change, leaving his progressive career for a while.

The first notion after stepping one foot on France's soil was that the country had a different smell. It was not the scent of home; it was not at all like his beloved United States. The sentiment caused him to feel homesick already, and he toyed with the idea of turning back and taking a flight back home. Still, he was mature enough to not do so.

He felt relieved as he spotted his name, which was scribbled on a piece of paper that was held high above the heads of the crowd. He approached the one who was there to pick him up, wearing a beaming smile.

oOo

Francis was highly amused by the sight of a gaping American.

He had assigned his chauffeur to pick up his guest; he himself was delightedly expecting him in his not so modest mansion, located in Nord-Pas-de-Calais. Said mansion had left Alfred dumbfounded as soon as he beheld it from afar. While he was fully aware of his distant relative's wealth, he hadn't expected a castle serving as a residential building.

The neo-gothic opus was surrounded by a large, well cultivated garden.

"Château…," was the only thing that American could manage to utter.

"Not quite, sweet Alfred. It's just a house." The blond Frenchman with tied back shoulder-length hair chuckled, while leading his guest inside.

"Yes, fuck you."

The interior was, if possible, even more intriguing. The high ceiling of the entrance hall was, despite of the gold-plated rib vault, completely coated in royal blue. The sunlight threw colourful patches of light through the high painted window. He had the impression of standing inside of a church instead of a mansion.

A stereotypical French-looking butler, who Alfred spontaneously named Sebastian in his mind, heaved his luggage upstairs. The pair continued their way to the parlour, simultaneously asking about each other's well-being. Alfred had troubles understanding the Frenchman's accent, which was clearly intentionally thick just to tease him.

The American remarked with relief that the parlour was set more homely rather than pompously decorated; a flat screen TV proved him that he was still in modern time. Still, the room was a posh area, adorned with numerous paintings, which Alfred found out to be pictures of religious scenes. As he let his gaze wander around, he took notice of a man who was seated on one of the leather sofas. That man unknown to him appeared to be sound asleep; his scarab blue blazer had slightly slipped from his shoulder. Both hands were casually rested on a book atop of his lap. Alfred found himself staring at the man's pair of prominent eyebrows. He heard Francis' regretful sigh.

"I was undressing him before you arrived."

That would explain the somewhat down-slid blazer, also the halfway unbuttoned shirt that allowed insight into the stranger's collarbone and a bit of his chest. Alfred started to feel uneasy while he recalled the Frenchman's infamous reputation.

"Did I, you know, interrupt both of you in the middle of something?" He couldn't really decide whether to sound apologetic or not.

"No, I think you saved him. He was already asleep when I attempted to get rid of his clothes."

"What?" Alfred managed to reduce his shout into an unbelieving whisper. "You – Francis, have you lost it? That's so gross, I mean scandalous and wrong!"

Francis shrugged and wore a sheepish smile. "I couldn't resist. He wouldn't let me otherwise."

"Totally a reason to grope a sleeping person."

"Well yes."

"No!"

Because the two weren't able to keep their voices down anymore, the sleeping man was awoken by the disturbance. An annoyed groan left his mouth. His sleepy expression turned to utterly horrified as he caught sight of his not as neat as before attire.

"Francis, you sick frog-fucking arse!" There came an angry yell from across the room.

At that moment Alfred figured out that the man was British.

oOo

Their dinner was a quiet one, be it because they were concentrating on their delicious serving, or because of a tension still lingering from the incident before. Alfred awkwardly took a small bite of his fish; he could practically taste the healthiness of it, in contrast to his usual fast food. Whilst chewing he covertly let his gaze wander around the round table; the Briton, whose name was Arthur, was sitting on the opposite side. The candles in front of him illuminated his sour face, placing a creepy shadow under his eyes. Next to him sat Francis, looking not a tad guilty, instead he was delicately savouring his meal, every now and then taking a sip of his red wine.

"Guess what, I recently caught a bigwig of the mafia back home. How awesome is that!" Alfred finally decided to break the unpleasant silence, and what was better than talking about himself and his heroic actions.

Francis raised a brow, looking genuinely impressed. Even Arthur was looking up again. The American was happy to get their attention and to have been able to loosen the atmosphere a bit. He eagerly explained how they had outwitted the criminal by sabotaging a secret transaction, both listeners smiled at the action movie-like description of events. Looking at the almost kid and his energy, they did not doubt that the incident occurred just as depicted.

At last the American leant back on his seat and drank from his glass of water.

"Man, am I awesome or what."

"Yes, indeed," the Frenchman gave Arthur a soft nudge, earning an enquiring look from the Briton. "Arthur, darling. Don't you think, he could be helpful on your task?"

"Don't call me that shit, Francis," the other snapped, "and what task? You were asking me a favour, that's all."

"That's what I mean," Francis raised his hands in a soothing manner.

"I don't think I would need help."

An obviously confused Alfred waited for explanation. He didn't know what to think of his situation, just that it was not at all comfortable. First the two older men were bickering in an embarrassing (gay) way in front of him; and also his name was mentioned.

Francis caught Alfred's lost expression, straightened himself and began to explain.

"You know, I'm a collector of Christian arts and relics," said Francis. Alfred nodded, he somewhat figured out by seeing his host's gathering of paintings and other antique items.

"Didn't know you were religious."

"Not really. But you know that I have a thing for the beautiful," Francis said while stroking a very much appalled Arthur along his cheekbone, his fingers stopped at the large eyebrow and caressed it fondly.

"Stop it!"

"And creations in humans' endeavour to come just a bit closer to God are beautiful. They have so many facets, starting from genuine devotion to the point of subconsciously wishing to become God themselves."

The American did not know much about arts and their meaning, he found them pretty but they were never a part of his life. Yet he couldn't help but being moved by the Frenchman's words. And seeing Francis with a love struck expression that had nothing to do with perverse intentions was indeed a refreshing sight. Apparently Arthur was thinking the exact same thing; his eyes were widened in surprise, revealing his striking green irides fully. Alfred thought rather quizzically that Francis might have a better chance on wooing the Briton by now.

"So, what's my part in this whole collector mania?" Alfred asked, now genuinely curious.

"I heard a rumour about the existence of some unpublished writings and letters, written by the," Francis paused for a dramatic effect, "the one and only Martin Luther."

"Hey I know that guy!"

Arthur couldn't resist rolling his eyes at Alfred's cry of amateurishness.

"Well I bloody hope so."

"So, I'm really eager to have them in my possession. I'm not sure about their historic value but hey, it's Martin Luther we're talking about!" Francis had ignored the unpleasant tension between his guests, so he paid no attention to Alfred's and Arthur's glare war as he explained his intention.

"I still have no clue about the connection to me," the American retorted after he decided to tear his glare away from Arthur.

"Nothing in fact," was Arthur's rough interjection that Francis once again chose to ignore.

"Alfred, Arthur here," Francis pointed to the man beside him, "is a fully qualified theologian."

Alfred interrupted with a snort, earning another death glare, emphasised by the large eyebrows, from the Briton.

"'M sorry, seriously no offence. It's just…you look so young."

"My age has nothing to with my job."

"Yeah, sorry. My bad."

"Would you please stop interrupting my speech? Anyways, as I said, Arthur is a theologian. He'd helped me several times to add pieces to my collection, since it's important to do the right amount of research and investigation. And in the end the authenticity must be proven." The Frenchman paused for a moment, took a sip of wine, examined his glass, and watched his own reflection in the red liquid. "And I was wondering, Alfred, are you willing to help him?"

Alfred frowned. "Well, I don't think I could be of any help."

"But I'm worried about Arthur, he'll be alone, there are so many evil men outside!" The Frenchman buried his face dramatically into his palms and muttered something unintelligible in his language.

"You frog! You never gave shit about my safety before!"

"You are used to investigating stuffs, aren't you? And also, you get a chance to travel around Europe. _Hein?_"

Alfred's interest was piqued; he did not expect an exciting task, but getting to see Europe seemed to be a nice alternative to a bored countryside and a perverted Frenchman. He would have to deal with the annoying Brit, but he could handle.

"Sounds interesting," he finally said and rewarded the two older men with a bright glint of his sky blue eyes behind his framed glasses.

oOo

The next day he had breakfast with only a grumpy Englishman as his companion. They silently chewed on their toasts or drank coffee and tea respectively. Alfred had asked about Francis' whereabouts and Arthur informed him that said man had left for work, a shadowy one, he added.

The young American eventually examined the terrace they were sitting at; from there he had full outlook of the backyard that was without doubt magical. It was pervaded by a green labyrinth with lowly cut walls. Inside the labyrinth he could see life-sized statues; they were spread across the whole maze. Alfred recognized them as figures from a famous fairytale, Alice in Wonderland. Humpty Dumpty was sitting on a wall, staring down at the stony white rabbit that was typically in a hurry, right behind it was Alice chasing after him. There were other similar figures, some names he had forgotten. And in the middle of the labyrinth was a larger square of lawn, at the centre, a mad tea party was taking place.

"Awesome," he breathed out.

Arthur followed his gaze and nodded.

"Never have thought to find something so obviously English in this house," Alfred muttered, astonished.

"Yes, well. He did make this when I was little and he only a teenager, the fool."

"You know each other that long already? That's kinda sweet of him."

The Englishman didn't respond to that, instead he continued to sip on his cup of tea and read the morning paper, now and then staring puzzled at French words he didn't understand. Alfred did not mind and decided to marvel at the gorgeous garden again.

"This is your first time being in Europe?"

Alfred's head shot back to the Englishman, surprise clearly visible at the unexpected question. He noticed how the other avoided looking straight at him. Alfred nodded.

"And yes, I'm that kind of ignorant American, who hadn't realised that there's another world outside of the continent – up until now."

Arthur was taken aback by the response and his reaction was followed by a soft chuckle.

"That's quite an intelligent and self-conscious joke coming from an ignorant American."

That American couldn't help but feel a slightly bit embarrassed by the unexpected praise and laughed in an undefined manner. He himself was curious to find out more about the Briton, but that face with a perpetual frown didn't seem too receptive for personal questions, so he decided to stay quiet, staying on the safe side. Though there was something he could use as a conversation topic, because he hated silence; they were always so awkward.

"So, what about that investigation thingie?"

"Sorry?"

"You know - those Martin Luther scripts."

"Oh," Arthur shrugged, "well I'm to be frank not too excited about it. Firstly, Francis' information is painfully vague, we have nearly no starting point. Then, it's presumably a boring task, because the scripts will be, I'm pretty sure, of no great scientific significance. Sure, he was an important figure in history, but a few unknown letters of him are merely worth to be gifted to a museum. I don't understand why Francis would want them in the first place; he was never very interested in scriptures."

Arthur observed how the other's expression fell, from being bright and optimistic to downright disappointed as he went with his reasoning. He felt a tad bit guilty afterwards for crushing Alfred's imagination of an adventurous full-of-action-and-mystery job, especially because his face was shining so brightly in anticipation before.

"I'm sorry Alfred. But you will surely enjoy your Europe trip. I can show you around."

Arthur noted with relief that the younger man had brightened up again, beaming with his whole boyish face. And also, he didn't know what caused this random notion; there was this odd blond strand that stuck up from the American's hairline. He was fighting the urge to flatten it since yesterday. He wondered whether it was supposed to be stylish.

His train of thought was interrupted by Alfred's groan.

"I'm bored! Can't we go now?"

"Don't you want to say goodbye to Francis?"

"Uh, I'd rather avoid a situation where he's making excuses to kiss me."

"Tell me about it!"

They laughed.

The time Francis arrived home; his guests were gone, including his sports car.

* * *

So, how did you like it? Nothing much happened yet. This is in fact my first Hetalia fanfic. I had several half-written stories before, but they were in German, since I did not dare to directly write in English. The result was that in the end, I had no motivation in translating into English. So I decided to directly write in English this time, so I'm pretty nervous about it hahaha.

Random notice: my British spell/grammar-checker was all bitchy at Alfred's dialogues.


	2. And Then Alice Entered Wonderland

Man I'm so slow, sorry guys. The awesome Hetalia fanfictions here are serious distractions.

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz

**Chapter 2: And then Alice entered Wonderland**

The moment they drove past a round yellow signboard, displaying a black eagle, they entered German grounds. The landscape flashed by with incredible speed, it was a variation of large empty grasslands, fields, farms, and every once in a while even house rows. A strong smell of dung assaulted their noses as they drove past a vegetable field, making Arthur grimace in disgust and Alfred hold on his nose with a loud groan.

"I can't believe we're in Germany. We were still in France a minute ago," said the American, who had problems keeping still on the front seat, "And fuck, I hope I won't reek of cow shit when we arrive."

"Schengen* countries are wonderful; you are free to cross the borders without fuss. We Brits are too paranoid to join - and we just love our isolation."

"Hey, you gotta let me drive some time."

"Also in love with the autobahn?" Arthur laughed and increased the speed, leaving several cars far behind. Alfred nodded animatedly.

The ride proved itself to be productive; they came to know each other better. It was obvious, the first time they met that they were two ever possible different individuals. Despite the constant arguments, they were okay in accepting each other's companion. Arthur repeatedly shook his head with a mix of amusement and annoyance, Alfred seemed to him so incredibly young, even though he himself was not much older. He was radiating an aura of youth, which confused the older man. How could a grown up be crazy about trivial things like wild rabbits on some German grassland, he asked himself. Truth to be told, it was nice refreshment.

"So, where's your church?" Alfred asked after he was sick of playing 'I spy with my little eye' and an impossible round of 'truth or dare'.

"Sorry, what?"

"You're a pastor, aren't you?"

"Oh. No. No, I'm not." Arthur answered as he made a turn to exit the autobahn. "I'm just a scientist, specialised in church history. I do have a 'license' to preach, I'm not very talented in it though."

Alfred nodded with a slightly confused expression. "Don't you think, talking and changing people for the better is much cooler than just locking yourself up with books. I mean, what's the point in finding out about church history?"

"I think you misunderstand something," the other said and glanced to the American through the corners of his eyes. "I'm not religious. I deal with church history because it's thrilling, more so than your Hollywood movies."

"I see. But hey, no way something's more exciting than Hollywood!" Alfred formed his lips into a childish pout.

"Religious wars, malicious intrigues, burning of witches, orgies at the papal villa, and the more recent one: molestation on minors." The Briton had a too light hearted sound while he went on with his list for Alfred's liking.

"That's, um, pretty disgusting I guess," he scratched the back of his head, a bit taken aback, "Dan Brown stuffs, right?" Arthur did not comment on that.

They had now reached a rural road, bordered by a thickly foliated forest. Both felt the light chill as the car was led under the forest's shadow and quickly closed the pane. Once again, Alfred cheered and jumped at the sight of a deer jumping on the road.

"Look, a deer! Oh my god that's so adorable - I mean cool!"

"Yes Alfred, now sit down already." Arthur pulled him back by grabbing his sleeve.

They neared a village, a neat place of comfortable silence. The straightforward number of houses was a mix of modern and old-established architecture. Nearly every single ones had their window sill decorated with summer flowers, giving the whole place a certain kind of nice uniformity.

Alfred was fascinated by the scenery before him. The small village was a spot completely surrounded by refreshingly green grassland full of daisies and dandelions; they reminded him of his childhood for some reason and he couldn't help but smile at the notion. The most striking building in the village would be the church, whose steeple was towered above all housetops. The golden weather vane was a lonely thing on the peek of it and remained still on a windless day. Both heard a chime indicating that it was already past noon.

"This is awesome!" the American had abandoned his plan on staying composed. "But why this place? Not that I'm complaining, it's so dreamlike."

Arthur chuckled, eyeing the one next to him with an amused smile.

"You're a romanticist, aren't you," he teased.

"Hey, leave me be, would you!" Arthur raised his hands, letting go on the steering for a moment, in defeat – though his smirk was painfully mocking.

"Well," the Briton gripped the steering again, "there's this…friend of mine. He's this village's pastor, you know. But above all, he's a Luther specialist."

They drove past the church, but something was odd. Arthur slowed down and frowned. Alfred wanted to know why the other had reduced speed, until he found out on his own. A dark and pained expression crossed the American's face; he couldn't believe that the perfect and peaceful scenery would be ruined by this. He felt terribly sorry for the villagers.

Police cars were parked on the churchyard; they saw several policemen involved in arguments, which they could not quite understand. A yellow police line was extended before the church door, which was slightly opened, yet it was too dark to actually see what's inside.

"What the fuck happened?" Alfred was finally able to break the silence; he palmed his forehead in confusion. Arthur's frown deepened.

He sped up, driving further until they reached the back of the church. Right there stood an old huge house, presumably the rectory. Arthur stopped the car and jumped out of it, dashing to the front door and rang the bell as if possessed. As nobody reacted, he panicked and began to shout. By the time Alfred had also left the car and was now standing beside the upset man. He explained to himself that Arthur's panic attack was probably due to the scene they saw on the churchyard. The friend mentioned was the pastor, so naturally Arthur would be worried sick.

Finally the door opened and two icy eyes were staring moodily at them. Arthur on the other hand was just relieved.

"Thank God Ludwig, you're okay. I was shitting bloody bricks."

The man named Ludwig did now appear fully before them and stood taller than both his unannounced guests. The German's blond hair was perfectly slicked back. The stoic face showed a trace of annoyance, the corner of his mouth was twitching in irritation.

"Arthur. I'm happy to see you," came the spare greeting by the German, his expression betraying his words.

"What's going on?" Arthur pointed at the church.

Ludwig sighed, stepped aside and bid Arthur and Alfred to enter. They followed him through a cramped but long corridor. Pastor Ludwig led them into the living room, a large sun bathed space that is framed by stainless white walls. These were barely decorated by any painting or photograph, only two modern-looking pictures with probably German bible verses were hanging there quite lonely. Instead of any other decorative items there was a plain wooden cross just above their heads atop the door. They were offered to take a seat on the sofa, they did, and soon after they stared up at the pastor expectantly. Ludwig shifted uncomfortably on his feet; his lips were reduced to the shape of a thin line. Obviously he was searching for a good way to formulate what he was going to say.

"There was a murder in my church," he breathed out.

Both his guests were petrified, gasped and forgot to exhale; they had somehow expected something like that, though the truth struck like a surprise punch. Alfred himself was generally used to such news, yet he never had thought that crime on a church ground was a possibility.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Ludwig." Arthur was standing up for no particular reason; he just felt like he had to. Ludwig shook his head.

"It happened. Fortunately," the pastor paused, not sure whether the word was appropriate, "the victim was not anybody from the village."

"I'm glad you're fine;" Arthur said genuinely, "just let the police handle this."

Ludwig nodded, slightly smiling. The moment he let his gaze rest on Alfred, Arthur slapped his forehead. Alfred, who had remained silent jumped and offered his hand for a handshake with a brilliant smile.

"I'm sorry; I forgot to introduce Alfred to you."

"Alfred Jones, nice to meet you pastor!" The American's enthusiasm made itself noticeable by the firm grip and bold handshake.

The small group of international blonds managed to spend ten minutes of small talk casually as far as the tense situation allowed them to be. But the offered cups of tea were still warm as they had inevitably run out of shallow subjects to talk about. Arthur was no man of creative conversation and his friend Ludwig was only talkative when preaching on the pulpit. And thus the talking ceased after an information exchange about the oncoming summer festivities in a nearby town. As to Alfred's personality, he was an outgoing person, a hundred percent extrovert who always had something unimportant to talk about, but the two men with him were just so stiff and utterly boring that even he couldn't get himself enough motivation to lighten the atmosphere. Besides he was too troubled by the current happening that had afflicted the ideal village scenery; the images of police officers in deep frowning expressions and the slightly opened door that revealed nothing of what occurred inside the house of worship did not stop appearing in his head. He cursed his own lack of power to take action against the culprit but he assured himself that the German police was fully capable, no need to worry at all. At least, that's what he was trying to make himself believe.

Somewhere the second hand of a clock ticked and filled the room of silence. Ticking noises counted as one of the most annoying things in the world, Alfred thought. They were tedious, the everlasting cause of hectic fever in him. That's the reason why he preferred digital clocks. And so, pushed by the jarring ticking, he touched the much-avoided subject.

"Do you know the reason for the murder?" He pretty much said in the same breath.

Arthur snapped from whatever reverie he was in and scowled at Alfred disapprovingly and jerked him with his elbow hitting the other's upper arm.

"Excuse him Ludwig," Arthur looked at the German with an apologetic smile, "he's so curious, isn't he. But he surely knows that you're not willing to talk about it yet."

Alfred could only growl in irritation, he sometimes didn't like the way the Briton treated him as if he was a kid who needed to be spoken for and he barely knew him. He had wanted to insist on asking but soon he realised that Ludwig was not quite willing to talk, just as Arthur had predicted.

"You could just tell me the reason for your being here," the pastor offered as a new conversation topic.

"Right," said the Briton with an expression of endless gratitude, "we actually need your help or to be precise, your knowledge."

At that he, the pastor, raised his brows curiously making the skin of his forehead wrinkle. It's been quite a time since his British friend had asked for his guidance, be it out of pride or simply because he had his own share of broad knowledge. Thus he was slightly surprised.

"Are you being a treasure hunter for Francis again?" He asked suspiciously, earning a deep disapproving frown from his friend.

"I'm just doing him a favour and that's about it."

"So lenient, no wonder you're a victim of his sexual harassments," Alfred commented out of nowhere just because he had started to feel left out and because he was still pissed from before.

Holding his temper was a hard task, so the Briton continued on his conversation, working hard at ignoring the urge to spit nasty words at the younger that would certainly make Ludwig nail him to a cross.

"But you're right, I'm – we are searching for some of Luther's letters," Arthur made a pause waiting for Ludwig to laugh at him for he himself found the search pathetic.

Yet instead of laughing the other become white, visibly gulping and looked utterly petrified. He shifted uneasily on his seat, raised his hand to rest it on his temple before rubbing it while closing his eyes as if feeling dizzy.

"Hey, you okay?" Even Alfred had noticed the pastor's change of behaviour.

Ludwig nodded without letting go of his temples. "It's just…the man, the one who died, had asked me about Luther's letters."

Arthur and Alfred turned to look at each other, completely reading each other's confusion out of their eyes. They did not know what to think about the turn of events, that was unexpected and for some reason frightening. They kept staring at each other; little by little ideas dawned on them until they reached a dead end again and realised that they were completely lost.

"What do you mean? Does it mean we are not the only ones searching for the writings?"

Alfred's professional mind on the other hand had another kind of question emerging, "You know the victim?"

Both questions made Ludwig fidget uncomfortably; especially the young man's question had led him into a trap. Alfred's sky-blue eyes were boring its way into the depths of the pastor's soul.

"I hope you did not forget to tell this little detail to the police. Why do you know him? Were you the last one to meet him before he died?" The questions were uncharacteristically merciless. Suddenly Alfred felt a hand grabbing his arm. It was Arthur.

"Stop it, Alfred! You sound as if…as if you would insinuate that Ludwig," he gave a short laugh, "was the murderer!"

"I'm not saying anything; I'm just making sure that he's not keeping any information from the police. Cause don't you find it strange that there's not a single officer in this house even though he's supposedly acquainted with the victim?" At that Arthur couldn't retort.

Ludwig, who had gained his composure again, straightened his back. "I already told the police everything I know. I am a mere clergyman and murder is against my Christian credo," he said proudly and stern.

Alfred laughed nervously. "Of course. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

* * *

He knew his life was on stake, he just knew that they're out there waiting for the signal to finally break into his house and rob the life out of his body. On Rome's street they looked up at the small window, the room was dimly illuminated. The light was faint just like the life of the owner was faint. Not far away the traffic roared and loud music broke through every gap and reached their ears as damped beats. The liveliness of the city was not of their concern at the moment; there was a better kind of music awaiting them namely the sweet cries of a dying man and his prayer which ascended to heaven, formulated with his last breath.

There was the signal. They scurried across the small alleyway, jumped over puddles although it didn't matter. No breaking in was necessary as they found the front door to be unlocked, the easier was their mission. The owner was smart for not wasting time on foolish attempts to defend himself. They respected such bravery, but that too didn't matter.

The door opened with a creak, the inside was plunged in darkness, and the only light source came from above, it barely provided them with enough visibility. But they were not to be stopped by that. Just follow the light and you will be rewarded. They kept silent while walking upstairs. There finally was the illuminated room; the door leading to it was wide open. In the middle sat a young brunette man with his back turned against them. He was clutching the rosary that belonged to his older brother and prayed silently. His seated body had begun to rock back and forth on the stool. The hands that were clutching the rosary pounded almost rhythmically against his chest.

They surrounded him and one of them stepped closer to the sitting man, leant himself forward and smirked at the sight of pure fear and surrender. He caressed the weeping man's neck before he grasped his jaw, making the other whimper. The victim squeezed his eyes shut at the sensation of a cold and sharp knife pressing against his throat. He felt the assassin's breath against his cheek. And as he felt the small cutting of his flesh and his own blood running down his skin, he suddenly opened up his eyes widely and breathed out with a clear ringing voice: "_Kyrie eleison!" _

Then his throat was slit open. The rosary hit the ground with a long lasting echo.

* * *

The setting sun was definitely more interesting than some theological conversation he did not understand. So Alfred had left the two old men (though he did not know their age) on their own and escaped to find joy in kicking a pebble down the street. The village was all nice but certainly it was not a place for a young man to find entertainment and soon he was starting to feel bored. In his utter frustration the pebble was kicked rather forcefully, it flew out of the road and disappeared behind grass and twigs. Alfred was startled by a rabbit which had jumped out of the grass where the small rock had disappeared. It did not take long until Alfred recovered and his lips formed a wide grin.

"Rabbit!" He cried and chased after the jumping animal.

The rabbit was fast but Alfred was not to be sneezed at although he nearly stumbled twice. Soon they were running by the church's wall that separated the lawn from the streets. Alfred watched the rabbit vanish into the church's lawn. It had squeezed itself through a small hole on a wooden door. Alfred hesitated but decided to open it and ducked himself to fit through. He spotted the rabbit but it was already too far away to catch up. He sighed. For a moment he was vaguely reminded of Francis' labyrinth.

He just wanted to turn back as his gaze fell on a back door of the church. He found himself peeping around to make sure that there were no police officers wandering around anymore. _Just one look,_ he told himself and entered.

The door did not lead directly to the nave. He manoeuvred his way until he appeared behind the altar. Not far away was the crime scene, marked with numbered plates. He stepped closer and eyed the white outlines of a man drawn on the stony ground. Alfred nodded. As a matter of course the body was already removed. The preservation of trace evidence was completed. Alfred was slightly disappointed; in this case he wouldn't be able to find anything. Heck, he didn't even know what he was searching for; his professional mind-set had been kicking in without control. He turned, looking around while scratching the back of his head and then straightened his glasses. He would occasionally rub on his sticking out strand as a habit at times while thinking absentmindedly.

Right to the altar was a sculpture of Madonna and baby Jesus, standing on a richly ornamented base which was placed on a raised height to the wall. That was odd, wasn't this supposed to be a protestant church? But why the sculpture of Mary?

Next to it was the also heightened wooden pulpit and the attached winding staircase, Ludwig's work space. Alfred observed the upper part of the nave, on both sides were balconies, carried by the massive rising pillars. Alfred walked along the basilica until he was back at the altar again but nothing seemed to be out of place. He circled the altar, came to a halt as he spotted something strange at the back of it. The altar was covered with white cloth and a corner appeared to be stuck at something that looked like a closed stony drawer. It could be a place to store necessities for Sunday service, Alfred thought. It did not shift effortlessly and he had to put some strength on pulling it out. It was empty. It was dusty. The only dustless spot was shaped like a small, long object. It could have been a torch light, a rather thick candle or a paper scroll. Whatever it was, it was removed not long ago. Alfred cocked his head slightly to glance deeper into the drawer. He almost missed the small stain.

"Looks like dried blood," he murmured and rubbed at it. Based on the colour of the stain he could tell that it was not too old, definitely more recent than the dust layer. Was the object removed by the victim or by the murderer?

"Alfred?" He jumped at the sudden calling of his name.

"A-Arthur, damn, you scared the soul out of my body," he said relieved and covered his heart with his hand. It was beating furiously.

Arthur sighed and shook his head. "I've been searching for you, you git! What are you doing here anyway? It's really not a nice tourist spot at the moment."

"I was just curious about the crime scene," he muttered with a sheepish smile, scratched at the corner of his mouth.

"You little problem child, leave the snooping around to the police," the Briton said angrily.

Alfred snorted, "What did you just call me?"

No answer came from Arthur, instead he stepped closer and pulled at Alfred's sleeve to drag him out of the church. "Now, come on, I got new information."

"Wait a minute, I've got a question," Alfred said and did not let himself to be dragged around to the Englishman's annoyance. "This is a protestant church, isn't it?"

Arthur nodded and pulled again.

"But why's there a statue of Mary?"

"Oh," the other finally stopped and let go. He placed himself next to Alfred, wrapped his arm around the American's back, which made him notice the softness of Arthur's way of touching, and pointed to the Madonna. "It can be easily explained. It's because this church used to be catholic."

That was a surprising revelation.

"It's a common thing. That's the reason why the cross over the altar still has the body of Christ um…attached to it. Many Lutheran churches in Germany are using former catholic churches while most of the reformed churches own their particular building and those would have a plain cross instead," Arthur explained with clear pronunciations as if teaching a student.

"You know your stuff," the amount of information was first to be processed, not that he was dumb or anything.

"Mary remains in place because the statue was made by an artist from this village and the people decided to keep her," Arthur smiled, satisfied. "Was that any help for your 'investigation'?"

Alfred laughed. "No, it was rather trivial."

The Briton's face fell.

"Aw, don't be disappointed old man, you helped my intelligence rate," Alfred patted the 'old' man's back energetically.

"I'm not old, you berk, I'm still 31, thank you very much," he said, mildly insulted, and formed a pouty mouth.

"Damn, that's old."

That was it. Arthur turned his back against Alfred and walked away sulking.

* * *

A/N: I killed him. I killed everyone's darling. I feel so guilty.

*Schengen: Countries in the EU (though there are also non-EU members) which participated at the Schengen Agreement can be crossed freely from one Schengen country to another.

Reviews are loooove


	3. Thousand facets like a stained glass

Okay, well...I'm late. Veeeery late XD. I hope you're still interested in this story. And I want to thank you for all your kind reviews, for the story and author alerts and for the favourites! They make me very very happy. And please kindly review on this chapter, too. You're free to bestow your love upon me, your constructive and destructive criticism, bashing and so forth. Hm, but there's a good chance that I might cry ;_;

In this chapter: Questions, questions, questions and Alfred's mind goes homo.

Chapter 3

**Thousand facets like a stained glass**

"I'm still saying he's suspicious," said Alfred whilst ignoring the grand appearance of the Cologne Cathedral.

"Stop it - you know I don't want to hear anything like that anymore. You don't even know Ludwig, so who are you to judge? Besides, you are being an ungrateful and ignorant brat. Here I am kindly offering you a guide through Germany's worthy sightseeing spots and what do you do? You keep blabbering about some nonsense before the majestic cathedral of Cologne," the Briton, who accompanied him, was furious and didn't bother to keep his voice low. It was a natural reaction, given that he really had taken them to Cologne by car, even though it had required more than two hours to reach their destination. Alfred himself seemed to be excited about seeing the supposedly most breathtaking tribute to God, so breathtaking that even Arthur was talking about it as if being religious. And the mood of the ride was pleasant until Alfred had started bothering the other with his suspicion.

"The pastor has to be the murderer and I tell you – it has something to do with Luther's letters," he had said and Arthur's response to it was a smack on the back of his head for the sheer stupidity and nonsense of his companion. "But it's true," he continued, "Noticed his expression at the mention of the scriptures? And you know, as a cop, you start to develop some kind of instinct that detects guilty people."

Still Arthur was not at all convinced, he rather found Alfred's theories far-fetched and ridiculous, or with his words: bollocks. And with arguments of these patterns they reached the city Cologne, which is famous for its cathedral, a stroke of genius made and planned by humans in order to approach God up high, closer and closer. Still not high enough. And here they were now, just like two blond ants in front of the west cladding. "Now can you please stop your shit-talking and let me show you this amazing piece of art," Arthur said and attempted to drag the other into the cathedral, Alfred rolled his eyes, yet he did not struggle.

The nave led to the eastern side of the grand cathedral and it was accompanied by massive pillars, majestically high, which were carrying the structure. Even Alfred was reduced to a wide-eyed tourist at the sight of such grandeur; he swallowed hard. The Cologne Cathedral in its overall appearance was the epitome of Europe to Alfred. Age, long engraved culture, ambition to achieve perfection in almost freaky ways. "Oh shit," he said intelligently. And Arthur looked proud, as if he himself was the head architect and the one who built the cathedral on his own.

"Yes, the biggest shit ever," the Briton proclaimed with a crooked smile. Alfred wasn't too keen on seeing Arthur's ecstatic expression when standing inside the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City, or well, yet maybe he would like to see that. _It's oddly nice to look at, _Alfred thought and was afterwards surprised by it.

Arthur wanted to slap himself for acting so excited every time he visited the cathedral, one should be getting used by the time, right? But amazement struck him over and over again. And then his friends would laugh at him for being such a fanboy and it wouldn't be long until Alfred would guffaw and tease him because of that. But no such thing happened. The American boy was staring at him with a smile, yes, but it was not a mocking kind of smile, rather an amazed and positively amused kind of smile. Arthur found himself feeling very embarrassed and awkwardly self-conscious. "Git, what're you gawking at like some kind of an idiot at some dumb goldfish."

Alfred had to blink at that…insult. "Sorry, didn't notice that I was staring," he said with a sheepish smile and swung his arms back and forth and it looked nearly childish. A shrug and Arthur successfully hid his embarrassment.

The main nave was interconnected with nine chapels, each for sacral cathedral treasures or dedicated to certain saints. Ornaments and frescoes of gold and royal colours adorned the cold walls and smaller altars of the chapels, Alfred called them "Middle Age graffiti". Once they stopped in front of a fresco, it was painted in a naturalistic style, rich in detail, and still it reminded Alfred of more ancient, medieval style; the outline strokes were bold and clearly separated from the colours. He grinned at this own analysis, he got it in him apparently. He glanced aside to find Arthur, whom he had stared at the whole time for some reason, also observing the fresco with a knowing glint in his striking emerald eyes.

"This was painted by an artist who belonged to the Nazarene movement in Germany - they were against the modern style that was taught in the art academies back in the early 19th century. Their ideals were the purity and holiness that is Catholicism and their city of inspiration was Rome," suddenly his expression turned soft and he smiled lovingly, "Oh yes, Germany had always been in undying love with Italy, it was always Italy. Beautiful Italia of his dreams."

Alfred blinked, why was Arthur telling him that? Before he could even ask, he found himself already pulled away to another spot that his 'tourist guide' found highly interesting. He had noticed, how his gaze always wandered to Arthur's full lips, he observed how they parted and occasionally smiled because of excitement. And his voice, Alfred's ears were alert to the Englishman's deep and yet not monotonous but rather melodious voice and he was particularly fond of that accent. He somehow wanted Arthur to keep talking even though he had long lost concentration and focus to what the other was saying, he remembered something about a golden chest that apparently kept the bones of the three Magi, though he just wanted him to talk.

"Why'd you stop talking?"

"Um, because I'm finished?" Arthur looked puzzled by the American's behaviour, then he lightened up, went to the conclusion that Alfred was deeply interested in the cathedral's history and architecture. "Okay then, follow me."

Alfred followed him to the southern transept like an obedient dog, glad that he was talking again. They stopped and were both faced by a giant stained glass that was different than the others, because compared to the other stained glasses it was with a modern concept. The motive did not tell a biblical story, it was abstract, a compilation of colourful squares. The sun, which gleamed through the glass, caused a play of colours to dance all over Arthur's face. Alfred liked that.

"This is the Richter-window," Arthur began. "Richter was the name of the artist whose design was used for the stained glass. It replaced the by the Second World War destroyed one."

"It's awesome and refreshing. Reminds me of pixels."

Arthur nodded. "Yes it is. This stained glass is often called 4096 colours, though he only used 72 colours, these can be found again on other stained glasses of this cathedral. He intended it to become a neutral point, a balancing medium in between symbolically heavy ornamentations." Arthur looked down to see the colour specked ground and stared at a shadow remaining still, it stood a bit farther away from them. He had noticed it since he had started his explanation and it hadn't moved since then. He looked up to see the source of the still shadow and spotted nobody. He was probably hallucinating, why would anybody watch them anyway? He shrugged and discarded his thoughts; the uneasy feeling never left him.

"What's wrong?" Alfred did not fail to see Arthur's change of expression.

"I…it's nothing I guess."

* * *

"Git, if you don't finish this monstrous portion of what you call a modest cup of ice cream, I'll make sure to shove it into your ears."

One really had to decide whether the sight of a full-grown man devouring one scoop after another in record time was endearingly amusing or just downright repulsive. Judging by the older Briton's twitching and offended eyebrows and the unsightly contorted mouth, he was most likely sharing the second opinion. The biggest portion of the café was no challenge for Alfred. Embarrassment was already Arthur's constant companion since he was around the young American; holding in the blush of shame became more and more difficult. Arthur knew it was a needless threat; Alfred would surely finish his ice cream without him even asking. To prove the public that he did not belong to the group of such mannerism Arthur sat in a stiff, upright position, head held high and he did not forget to fake a smug expression. To prevent himself from staring at Alfred's rape of the next scoop named stracciatella, and laughing at his smeared face, he took the daily newspaper, which he had bought from earlier.

It was no headline so he couldn't have spotted it earlier - the article about Ludwig's arrest under suspicion of murder. For a second Arthur felt like in a vacuum, all air left him. He gasped. Shaking hands placed the newspaper back on the table. Arthur covered his trembling lips with his right hand and made a choking noise that caused Alfred to look up from his almost finished cup. He was surprised by Arthur's face that had turned ghostly pale. Widened green eyes wandered from the newspaper to Alfred, a silent plead of _please tell me this isn't true. _Alfred abandoned his spoon. "Arthur? Everything okay?"

He anxiously gripped the newspaper and spread it open. Not surprise, but unexpectedly sympathy overwhelmed him. He eyed Arthur with pity. "Arthur, I..."

"This is a mistake," Arthur interjected forcefully, picking the other patrons' attention. "_Mus_t be a mistake."

A gentle but strong tug pulled him up; Alfred had risen from his seat and was now leading the other away from all the people. Alfred paid, or rather shoved the money carelessly at a waitress passing by. "We better go back to our hotel room. You need to...process everything. When you've calmed down we can talk – if you want."

Arthur did not answer. He didn't struggle either.

* * *

"Sorry, Alfred," Arthur said as he left the bathroom while rubbing his hair with a green towel. "I must have been a bugger back at the café, am I right?" He even allowed himself a smile, which relieved Alfred greatly. "Nah, don't sweat it old man."

Or maybe Arthur was still not okay, for nothing came as a response to him being called old. Instead he sat down with a sigh right next to Alfred at the edge of the bed, Arthur's bed. "I still refuse to believe that Alfred," the Briton's eyes caught the newspaper. This was the part, where it should become annoying for Alfred, if only he wasn't so distracted by the other's somewhat revealing appearance at the moment. With a frustrated groan he took off his glasses and stared at them accusingly, making them responsible for today's messed up visions.

"Oh fuck," Arthur cursed and caused Alfred to jump in surprise. Arthur stumbled his way towards the newspaper, stared at the picture of Ludwig in his usual priest regalia handcuffed and being escorted by the police. He recognized the place as Ludwig's house but that wasn't the reason for his astonishment. It was the inconsiderable piece of paper sticking out of the pastor's pocket. Arthur snapped out of his reverie when Alfred's voice resounded to his side. He looked at the other and shoved the newspaper against the American's chest, who was then staring at it. Nothing. He raised his eyebrows, confused.

"Look at the picture," Arthur demanded.

"Well it's...Ludwig."

The newspaper was snatched away from Alfred. "Look closely, idiot! Ludwig's breast pocket, there's a piece of paper...read out what's written in there."

"Rabbit," he read. Arthur nodded and pulled at Alfred's arm, attempting to drag him out of the hotel room.

"W-wait a minute Arthur, where are we going? You're still half naked for God's sake!"

Arthur cursed and started rummaging through his suitcase fishing out random pieces of clothes, not even bothering to pick a fitting combination. In the end he was dressed in a slightly too large casual shirt and light jeans, for a second he was confused as to why he even owned those but shrugged it off. "Come already!"

At the other end of the room Alfred was trying hard to hold in _something._ He wanted to tell Arthur those were from the wrong suitcase, meaning Alfred's suitcase and thus Alfred's clothes. But soon he realised he didn't mind – at all. Oh, why was everything so confusing?

"Tell me, why are we in the car when it's starting to get late? Will you please explain? You're seriously confusing me here!"

"Rabbit is the nickname he and Francis gave to me," Arthur explained while steering the car into the motorway. It was already dark.

"O-kay, I'll just disclaim any comments of how queer that sounds," _as if I wasn't queer today. _"And will just ask, once again, what are we doing?"

Arthur obviously was not in the mood of dealing with seemingly slow and daft Americans. "Without doubt Ludwig is calling for help. He was addressing me using the article's photo. Maybe, maybe he was unjustly arrested and had left me some evidence."

Now Alfred was annoyed. "Just because rabbit- - - sounds like a bunch of coincidences to me." But the driver shook his head.

"Why can't you just think?" Arthur was furiously tapping his forehead. "The picture was taken on Monday; that is a free day for church ministers and he wouldn't wear, especially not Ludwig, his vestment." He looked up to Alfred expectantly, who was staring at him with a blank expression. Arthur heaved a frustrated sigh, his supposed helper was not helping at all, and instead he was one case of a peculiar nuisance.

"Look, it's not at all a bunch of coincidences. Why? Because Ludwig was planning this. He knew the police would get him that day, maybe there were just too many indications pointing at him as the murderer. So he needed my help, gambling with the possibility of me actually reading the news. He wore his vestment – he just knows the nature of media. They would never miss a chance on taking a snapshot of a priest in handcuffs, the priest attire was practically screaming _take a picture of me, I'm a_ _scandalous man of the church._"

Alfred furrowed his brow and began massaging his forehead, growling unintelligible things under his breath. "Okay. And now you're going back to his house trying to fucking help a criminal, I can't allow that Arthur."

"Like I said, he might be unjustly accused of murder," the Englishman insisted.

"I think Arthur, you suffer from bias. Because Ludwig is just bad at being a criminal, even I, who had nearly no material and knowledge of that case could see that he's suspicious. Please Arthur, listen to me. You really shouldn't get further involved in this."

Arthur punished Alfred with an anger loaded silence for the rest of the journey.

* * *

Good thing Ludwig was still keeping the habit to hide his key under the porcelain garden gnome at the front door. It was a gift from Francis, that's why the gnome was naked – artistically so.

Naturally, it was pitch-black inside, and the hall was barely visible before their eyes. After a few times of stumbling and hitting random objects with his knees, Arthur finally found the light switch. They were then blinded by the sudden brightness, forcing them to blink. Arthur apparently knew Ludwig's house pretty well, at least he was able to walk around with confidence in his steps. And soon they were standing in a room that looked like an improvised bedroom, which was more a working place rather than a place to sleep. Rarely had Alfred ever seen so many books before, and so many bibles in different languages, or reference works. All had their rightful order, neatly placed in mahogany bookcases.

"So, what now?"

"Let's search around," was the timid answer of the Englishman.

Alfred groaned annoyed. "For what?"

Arthur pushed the other aside quite angrily and stomped his way to Ludwig's study desk to examine it. The way he opened the drawers was almost violent and Alfred pitied them. He sighed in defeat. "Okay, I'll help you, old man."

The "old man" shot him a death glare and sulkily replied: "No need, fucking wanker!"

Alfred whistled impressed, he had not expected such use of foul language from Arthur of all people. "Now we're close enough to throw insults at each other?"

At that Arthur blushed, clearly embarrassed - and Alfred decided that it was cute.

Alfred suggested that it would be better to switch off the light, in case some curious villager noticed and began to wonder, where the house was supposed to be empty at the moment. Luckily Arthur agreed without much fuss, and Alfred noted with relief that his anger was starting to ebb down, along with it a hint of regret in his expression. When the room was darkened it was completely dark. Not like in the cities, where streetlights and bright neon letters from outside made it difficult for a room to become completely dark. So, they couldn't even see each other at the moment and he actually heard Arthur coming closer to him. "Are you afraid of the dark?" Alfred only got a huff as an answer.

"I was just going to give you a lighter, you idiot," Arthur retorted and shoved something against him.

"You smoke?" Alfred let the lighter slip between his fingers, clicked it until a small flame lit up. He could finally see again.

"Not really," was the scarce answer. Arthur too had a lighter ready and used it to search a drawer.

Alfred, a bit miffed by the treatment he received, randomly picked a folder from one of the shelves and looked through it. It was full of documents; he flipped through the pages, but soon after decided to put the folder back as it was trivial to their search. At least he thought so - he couldn't understand a word of German after all. The next folder consisted of newspaper and magazine articles that were ripped off from the pages. Alfred wondered what these were for.

Meanwhile Arthur was thoroughly busy with feeling up Ludwig's supposed to be bed and he found himself to be successful. Under the plain white pillow was a crumpled piece of paper. It almost made Arthur laugh; it appeared to him that his friend was as uncreative as ever. Ludwig probably never noticed that hiding important information under the pillow wasn't the big trend in films anymore, but it sure made everything easier. However, he was in need of a brighter light source than a pocket lighter, and his reading glasses were left somewhere in the hotel room.

Arthur grabbed the reading light on Ludwig's working desk, tugged at the cable and disappeared with it under said desk. Okay, maybe he was a bit too paranoid and it was just a bloody village, nobody would notice or even care for some light in an empty house. Then again, villagers were said to be the fastest information aka rumour circulators. And he didn't want to be involved in any more problems.

"Arthur? What are you doing?" Alfred's head appeared out of nothing to peek under the table and caused the Englishman to jump, he nearly yelped.

"Goodness Alfred, you scared me there," he was somewhat out of breath and his heart was still racing, "B-but come here, I've found something."

Alfred nodded and crawled under the table to join the other. It turned out to be quite a difficulty to stuff two full-grown men under such a tiny space. Alfred looked at Arthur in an apologetic way, inwardly hoping that he hadn't gained weight...again. It would be pretty embarrassing. Not that he did care about other men's opinion on his appearance, not at all.

They both felt like two idiots at the moment. They most likely made an idiotic impression, too.

"What is that?"

"It's Ludwig's handwriting," Arthur said. He cleared his throat to prepare for reading, glanced to his side as he sensed the other pressing himself closer. Maybe to get a better hearing, he explained to himself. "Dear Rabbit..."

_Dear Rabbit_

_I was gambling with the possibility that you would notice my message for you from the news. And I'm sorry to disappoint you; that I have to confirm the police's conclusion. I am the murderer. And I have no excuse for that crime, and you wouldn't understand the reason behind my actions as you are a man without faith. But I assure you, it was for the greater good. But yes, you wouldn't understand. _

_I own the letters. _

Both men gasped audibly and looked at each other, shocked. Alfred nudged Arthur's side to urge him to keep on reading.

_However, I entrust these letters to you. I would prefer you over the Catholics. To even think that these precious letters would fall in their evil hands makes me sick. So, this is where you will find the first part of the letters: _

_In the pompous symbol of a state's unification, of a state united and yet divided by the worship of a faraway idolum. The third Corinthian will grant you access. Though be careful opening it, I treasure it nonetheless. _

Arthur groaned in frustration while Alfred was looking more confused than ever. All confusion aside, the American shot a worried look towards the other man, hoping that Arthur wasn't too shaken by the news that had broken his great trust towards Ludwig. In contrary, he looked more angry and derisive, rather than shocked. He crumpled the note with his hands as if it was something worthless and his expression was unforgiving. Alfred gulped, not liking the change of expression.

"That idiot! He had always been like that, always. Growing up never ever happened in his fucking life, always led by his emotions, always following his ideals like a blind fool and failing to differentiate right and wrong!" The Englishman was practically fuming in his rage, his cheeks all red and most likely hot from being upset. Even so Alfred didn't fail to notice the green eyes that were beginning to water.

"And he's causing me trouble now, he demands us to fucking go to Italy, that son of a bitch!"

That. That was a bit hard for Alfred to follow. "Wait, what? Italy? Arthur, what the fuck are you talking about?"

* * *

**A/N: **Are you curious about Ludwig's hint?

And damnit, I started writing this fic just for ze smut, but why's there no smut yet? D8


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